The mission briefing came on a Wednesday, delivered with the clinical detachment that jujutsu society used when discussing human sacrifice.
"The Star Plasma Vessel will merge with Master Tengen in three days."
Yaga's voice was carefully neutral, but Kage felt the weight behind the words. At sixteen, he'd learned to read the spaces between what people said and what they meant. This mission wasn't just important—it was existential.
"Star Plasma Vessel," Gojo repeated, lounging in his chair with deceptive casualness. His Six Eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but Kage could feel the intensity of his focus. "That's the kid who becomes part of Tengen, right? Keeps the barriers stable?"
"Correct. Riko Amanai, age fourteen. She'll merge with Tengen in three days at Jujutsu High's Tombs of the Star Corridor." Yaga pulled out files, distributed them. "Your mission is protection detail. Multiple groups want to prevent the merger—curse users who want Tengen destabilized, religious zealots who see it as blasphemy, and various other threats."
"So we're bodyguards," Suguru observed, studying Riko's photo. A young girl, all awkward teenage energy and forced smiles. "For three days."
"You're the strongest second-years we have. If anyone can keep her alive until the merger, it's you three." Yaga's gaze settled on Kage. "Your sensory abilities make you ideal for threat detection. You'll be shadow guard—stay close but unseen, track any approaching danger."
"Understood."
"Satoru, you're primary defense. Your Infinity makes you the best shield we have. Suguru, you handle internal threats—anyone who gets past the outer defenses." Yaga closed the files. "This mission is absolute priority. Failure means Tengen's barriers collapse, which means curses flood Japan unchecked. Millions could die."
The silence that followed was heavy with implication.
No pressure.
Just the fate of the entire country resting on three teenagers.
"When do we meet her?" Kage asked.
"Today. She's being transferred to a safe house in Tokyo. You'll maintain protection until the merger date." Yaga stood, signaling the briefing's end. "And remember—she's a fourteen-year-old girl who's been told she has to die for the greater good. Try to be... gentle."
"Gentle," Gojo repeated, his smile sharp. "That's totally our specialty."
Safe house. Tokyo. Afternoon.
Riko Amanai was not what Kage expected.
He'd anticipated fear, resignation, maybe quiet acceptance of her fate. Instead, he got a teenager in a school uniform who took one look at him, wrinkled her nose, and said: "Ugh. They sent the creepy blind guy?"
Kage's shadow twitched. "Excuse me?"
"The blindfold thing. It's unsettling. Can you actually see or is it just for aesthetic?" She turned to Gojo. "And you're the famous Six Eyes user? You look like a model who got lost on the way to a photo shoot."
"I like her," Gojo announced immediately. "She's got excellent taste."
Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose. "Riko-san, we're here to protect you. Could you maybe not antagonize your bodyguards within the first thirty seconds?"
"I could, but where's the fun in that?" Riko flopped onto the safe house couch with theatrical drama. "Besides, if I'm going to die in three days, I might as well be honest about everything."
The casual mention of her death hit like a physical blow. Kage felt Gojo's cursed energy spike, Suguru's signature tighten with discomfort. This was a child. Fourteen years old. And she was discussing her death like it was a minor inconvenience.
"You don't have to die," Kage said quietly.
"Yes, I do. Master Tengen needs a vessel every five hundred years or he evolves beyond human and becomes a curse. I'm this generation's vessel. It's an honor. Everyone says so." Riko's voice was bright, brittle. "So stop looking at me like I'm tragic. I accepted this years ago."
"Accepted or resigned?" Suguru asked gently.
"Is there a difference?"
Kuroi Misato—Riko's caretaker, listed in the files as auxiliary protection target—appeared with tea. She was older, calm, her cursed energy signature carrying maternal warmth that immediately marked her as civilian.
"Riko-sama, please don't terrorize our protectors. We need them functional."
"I'm not terrorizing anyone! I'm establishing boundaries!" Riko accepted tea with automatic politeness. "Besides, if Blindfold over there can't handle basic criticism, how's he supposed to handle actual threats?"
"By being incredibly petty," Kage replied. "It's my greatest skill."
Riko's surprised laugh was genuine. "Okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless."
"High praise from someone who'll be dead in three days."
"KAGE!" Suguru looked horrified.
But Riko was grinning now, the brittle edge softening into something more real. "See? He gets it. Everyone else tiptoes around the death thing like it's forbidden. But it's happening, so we might as well joke about it."
"Dark humor as coping mechanism," Gojo observed. "Healthy and relatable."
"Nothing about this situation is healthy," Kuroi said quietly, setting down the tea tray. "But humor is better than despair."
They settled into tactical planning. Gojo outlined threat assessment—who might attack, from where, with what capabilities. Suguru discussed cursed spirit deployment and internal security. Kage mapped the safe house's cursed energy signatures, cataloguing every potential entry point.
And through it all, Riko watched them with sharp eyes, this child who'd been told she was a sacrifice and decided to face it with sarcasm and forced bravery.
"Can I ask a question?" Riko said during a lull in planning.
"Sure," Kage replied.
"Are you guys actually confident you can protect me? Or is this just confident posturing to make me feel better?"
Honest question. Deserved an honest answer.
"I don't know," Kage admitted. "You're a high-value target. Every curse user, zealot, and opportunist in Japan knows the merger's happening. We're three sorcerers against potentially hundreds of threats."
"Kage," Suguru hissed. "Reassurance, remember?"
"But," Kage continued, "we're not normal sorcerers. Gojo's the strongest in generations. Suguru can command thousands of cursed spirits. And I can manipulate darkness and light, sense threats from miles away, and I'm too stubborn to let a fourteen-year-old die on my watch."
"So... confident stubbornness?"
"Exactly."
Riko's smile was small but genuine. "I can work with that."
Evening. Rooftop watch.
Kage stood guard on the safe house roof, his enhanced senses mapping Tokyo's cursed energy landscape. The city was a symphony of signatures—millions of civilians generating ambient negative emotion, scattered curses feeding on that emotion, sorcerers moving through it all like bright stars in a polluted sky.
And converging on their position, too many threats to count.
"You feel it too."
Gojo appeared beside him, Infinity rippling casually. He'd grown into his power over the years, wielding it with the same casual confidence most people used to breathe.
"Multiple groups moving toward Tokyo. Some are probably just responding to general merger awareness, but others..." Kage's enhanced hearing caught distant conversations, planning, violence being discussed in abstract terms. "They're coordinating. This isn't random opportunists. Someone's organizing them."
"The Time Vessel Association, probably. Religious zealots who think the merger is blasphemy." Gojo's Six Eyes glowed faintly. "They've got resources. Money. Political connections. And they're desperate enough to hire curse users."
"Can we handle it?"
"We're the strongest second-years in jujutsu society. We'd better be able to handle it." Gojo's confidence was absolute, unshakeable. "Besides, I've got you and Suguru. That's basically cheating."
"Your humility is inspiring."
"I'm not humble. I'm realistic about my capabilities." Gojo turned, his Six Eyes fixing on Kage with uncomfortable intensity. "But real talk—are you okay? You've been quiet since the briefing."
"I'm always quiet."
"You're always calculated. This is different. This is..." Gojo paused, searching for words. "Worried."
Kage wanted to deny it. But Gojo knew him too well, had stood beside him for six years, fought with him, trained with him, existed in his life as the closest thing to a best friend he'd ever had.
"I keep thinking about what happens if we fail," Kage admitted. "Not just the barriers collapsing. But Riko. She's fourteen, Gojo. Same age we were when we started at Jujutsu High. And she's being sacrificed for the greater good like she's a tool instead of a person."
"I know."
"And I keep wondering—if jujutsu society can treat a kid like expendable material for stability, what does that say about what they'd do to us if we ever became inconvenient?"
Gojo was quiet for a long moment. "You're thinking about the higher-ups."
"I'm thinking about how we're valued as weapons but watched as threats. How you're the strongest sorcerer in generations but also the most monitored. How I'm Special Grade but the clan tried to kidnap me." Kage's hands clenched. "We're tools with just enough autonomy to be dangerous. Just like Riko."
"Difference is, we can fight back. She can't." Gojo's cursed energy pulsed with something dark—anger, maybe, or the beginning of disillusionment. "That's why we protect her. Because she can't protect herself. Because someone has to stand between innocent people and the machine that wants to use them."
"Even knowing it's futile? That she's going to merge with Tengen in three days regardless?"
"Even then. Because the alternative is accepting that people are disposable." Gojo's voice was firm. "I refuse to accept that. You're not disposable. Suguru's not disposable. Riko's not disposable. None of us are."
"That's idealistic."
"That's human." Gojo bumped his shoulder. "You've spent too much time with Toji. Starting to sound like a cynic."
"Maybe cynicism is just pattern recognition."
"Maybe cynicism is giving up before trying." Gojo's grin returned. "Come on, Kage. Where's that stubborn asshole who told the Zen'in Clan to fuck off? Who learned Black Flash through sheer spite? Who entered a domain alone because no one else could?"
"That asshole is worried he's not strong enough this time."
"Then he's an idiot. Because he doesn't have to be strong enough alone." Gojo's cursed energy flared, bright and absolute. "We're the strongest together. You, me, Suguru. Three idiots who refuse to let the world grind people into dust. That's enough."
"Is it?"
"Has to be. Because the alternative is unacceptable."
They stood in silence, watching Tokyo's lights blur into constellations Kage couldn't see but could feel through temperature shifts and ambient cursed energy.
"Gojo?"
"Yeah?"
"If something goes wrong during this mission—if we have to choose between the greater good and doing the right thing—which do we choose?"
The question hung heavy between them.
"Ask me again in three days," Gojo said finally. "When we know what 'going wrong' actually looks like."
Inside. Strategy session.
Suguru had maps spread across the table, marking potential threat vectors with the methodical precision of someone who'd learned tactics from actual textbooks instead of pure instinct.
"Primary concerns are the Time Vessel Association and hired curse users. Secondary concerns are curse users operating independently, zealots from other organizations, and—" he paused, "—Toji Fushiguro."
Kage's attention sharpened. "Toji?"
"Intel suggests the Time Vessel Association hired him. No confirmation, but rumors place him in Tokyo, and his skill set makes him perfect for this kind of high-value assassination." Suguru's cursed energy carried concern. "If he's involved, this becomes significantly more dangerous."
"He trained me," Kage said quietly. "I know how he fights."
"Knowing isn't the same as beating," Gojo pointed out. "Toji's the Sorcerer Killer for a reason. He's killed Grade 1 sorcerers, Special Grades, people who should've been untouchable."
"Are you worried?"
"I'm realistic." Gojo's confidence didn't waver. "If Toji shows up, we handle him. Together. Just like everything else."
Riko listened to their planning with the focus of someone trying to understand her own death. "This Toji person. He's dangerous?"
"Very," Kage confirmed.
"More dangerous than you three?"
"Different kind of dangerous. He has zero cursed energy, which makes him invisible to standard detection. Fights using pure technique, cursed tools, and combat experience." Kage paused. "But he also taught me everything I know about fighting without cursed energy reliance. So if he shows up, I'll handle him."
"Alone?" Suguru's voice carried warning.
"Together," Kage corrected, meeting his friend's concerned gaze. "We're strongest together, right? That's what Gojo keeps saying."
"I do say that. Frequently. Because it's true." Gojo studied the maps. "Okay, revised strategy: Suguru handles external threats with cursed spirit deployment. I maintain primary defense around Riko. Kage, you're flex—detect threats, engage anything that gets through, and specifically watch for Toji."
"And if he appears?"
"Signal. We converge. Three on one." Gojo's smile was sharp. "Even the Sorcerer Killer can't handle those odds."
They continued planning into the night—contingencies, escape routes, emergency protocols. Kuroi provided food and gentle reminders to rest. Riko eventually fell asleep on the couch, her teenage bravado softening into the vulnerability of exhausted childhood.
"She's just a kid," Suguru murmured, covering her with a blanket. "How is this fair?"
"It's not," Kage replied. "But fairness stopped mattering to jujutsu society a long time ago."
"Then what's the point? If we're just perpetuating a system that sacrifices children for stability?" Suguru's cursed energy was troubled, cycling with that familiar pattern of doubt. "Sometimes I wonder if we're actually helping or just maintaining broken machinery."
"We're helping her," Gojo said firmly. "For three days, Riko gets to be protected, valued, treated like she matters. That's not perpetuating the system—that's fighting it within the constraints we have."
"Is it enough?"
"It has to be."
Kage felt the weight of impending conflict like pressure before a storm. Too many threats converging. Too many variables. Too much at stake.
But they were strong. They were prepared. They were the best jujutsu society had.
It would have to be enough.
Because the alternative—failure, Riko's death at the hands of assassins, Tengen's barriers collapsing—was unacceptable.
They'd protect her.
Even if it cost everything.
Even if it changed them fundamentally.
Even if it proved that jujutsu society was exactly as broken as Suguru feared.
For three days, Riko Amanai would be safe.
And after that...
Well.
After that, the world would show its true face.
And they'd discover if their strength was enough to change it.
Or just enough to survive it.
Day two. Morning.
"Stop staring at me."
Riko's voice was grumpy, teenage irritation mixed with exhaustion. She'd barely slept, and Kage's constant sensory monitoring apparently translated as "staring" in her mind.
"I'm not staring. I'm detecting potential threats through cursed energy mapping."
"That's just staring with extra steps."
"It's vigilance."
"It's creepy."
Gojo laughed from his position by the window. "She's got you there, Kage. You do have a creepy vigilance thing going on."
"I hate all of you."
"No, you don't," Riko said, echoing the familiar refrain. Her smile was tired but genuine. "You're just emotionally constipated."
"I'm fifteen—"
"Sixteen," Gojo corrected.
"—sixteen, and I've seen more death than most adults. Emotional constipation is a reasonable response."
"Or," Kuroi suggested gently, bringing breakfast, "you could try processing your trauma instead of weaponizing it."
"Where's the fun in that?"
They fell into comfortable routine—eating, planning, the casual banter that developed when people faced death together. Riko told stories about her school, her friends who didn't know she'd be gone soon. Kuroi shared memories of raising Riko, the small joys that made sacrifice bearable.
And Kage listened, feeling the weight of temporary responsibility.
Two more days.
Two more days to keep this girl alive.
Two more days before she merged with Tengen and ceased to exist as herself.
He'd protect her.
They all would.
Because that's what sorcerers did—stood between the innocent and the dark, even knowing the dark always won eventually.
But not today.
Today, they'd keep Riko Amanai safe.
Tomorrow could bring whatever horrors it wanted.
They'd be ready.